


Pavlova

by DelilahMcMuffin



Series: Randoms - A Series of Random Prompts [34]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Gender Identity, Halloween prompt, Jukebox Prompt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin
Summary: From spiffymittens’ amazing prompt: David affirms the fuck out of a litte boy trick or treater dressed as a princess or other female character and makes his whole night
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Randoms - A Series of Random Prompts [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556491
Comments: 42
Kudos: 295
Collections: The Rosebudd Ficlets





	Pavlova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiffymittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/gifts).



Patrick loves his husband. Like, most days he doesn’t think it’s humanly possible to love his husband more than he already does. And then every once in a while, David Rose does something that makes the impossible happen, and Patrick finds himself falling even more in love with him.

It’s Halloween, and despite David’s whining and multiple declarations that inviting “ _urchins off the street”_ into their beautifully curated store is ” _in_ _correct”,_ there are several of them milling around. It’s a little early for trick-or-treating, but the kids are finished school for the day and wandering home in their costumes. 

A few pre-teens have stopped by the store to browse, and David has mysteriously disappeared into the back of the store to avoid them. Okay, so maybe it isn’t all that mysterious.

There’s a leprechaun, a fairy princess, a vampire and a zombie hovering around the candles. Patrick is keeping one eye on them and one eye on his laptop, set up at the front counter. They’re talking quietly, smelling the candles, when another kid walks in. He—or maybe they?—are wearing a pink leotard and a tutu, with a sparkling tiara sitting in pride of place on the top of their head. Patrick smiles in greeting. 

“Hi guys,” the ballerina says to the other kids. They look them up and down and go back to sniffing candles. Patrick watches as the ballerina’s slight shoulders slump, head bowed in rejection. Patrick’s heart aches for them. There’s nothing harder than putting yourself out there, and he can’t imagine the hurt behind the outright dismissal of the other kids. He’s about to say something, his mind searching for words of comfort, when David emerges from the back room.

He’s dressed in his signature black and white, legs encased in skin tight jeans, with a long over skirt that comes down to his knees. He glances at the kids by the candles, then his eyes fall on the dejected ballerina and his expression softens. With an air of faux casualness that Patrick recognizes as anything but casual, David moves closer to the ballerina, under the guise of straightening the items on the central table. Patrick notes the surreptitious eyes of the other kids watching David—tall and masculine in all his skirted glory—cross the store.

“I like your costume,” David says kindly. The ballerina sniffles and wipes their nose with the back of their hand. To his credit, David doesn’t flinch, simply reaches into his pocket and withdraws a tissue, handing it over. “Pink is such a difficult colour for an autumn, but you wear it well.”

The ballerina looks at David, and Patrick watches as their eyes travel the length of his body—from his neatly laced Rick Owens high tops, his artfully ripped jeans, his skirt—and their eyes go wide and their mouth opens in a silent _“oh”_ of surprise. “Thank you,” they say, dabbing gently at their nose with the tissue. “Um, I...I like your skirt.”

David smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“Anna Pavlova,” the ballerina says. “She’s my favourite dancer.”

David nods appreciatively. “Mmm. Good choice. Pavlova is both my favourite dancer _and_ one of my favourite desserts. I like a costume that celebrates both the performative _and_ the culinary arts.” The ballerina beams up at him. “I’m David. What’s your name?”

“Jamie,” the ballerina says.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jamie,” David says. 

“You too,” Jamie replies, their expression awestruck. David smiles, nods, and turns to head back into the storage room. Patrick watches Jamie and the other kids watch him go. And then Jamie is standing in front of the counter, a glittery lip balm in their hand. “Who’s that guy?” Jamie asks.

Patrick smiles, ringing up Jamie’s purchase and applying their 25% friends and family discount. “That’s David. He’s my husband.”

Jamie trades a few toonies for the lip balm and tucks it into a bejeweled bag hanging from their shoulder. “D-do you like his skirts?”

Patrick thinks before he answers. He does like David’s skirts. He loves them, in fact. But he thinks that maybe Jamie needs to hear something that celebrates how the skirts make _David_ feel. Not him. 

“I do. But mostly I like how much _he_ likes them. That’s what’s really important to me,” he says. “It’s important to me for David to feel good about feeling like himself, you know?”

Jamie nods thoughtfully. “That’s what my mom says too.” And Patrick is so glad that someone in Jamie’s life is supportive of their sartorial choices. 

“Your mom sounds like a smart lady,” Patrick says. 

Jamie smiles. “She is.” They glance over their shoulder at the group of kids who have slowly made their way closer to the counter, to better overhear the conversation. 

“Hey Jamie,” the fairy princess says. “I like your tiara.”

“I like your wings,” Jamie replies shyly.

“We’re going to check out the haunted house,” the vampire says. “Wanna come?”

Jamie’s eyes go wide and a slow, shy smile blooms across their face. “Yeah!” they breathe excitedly. 

The kids pay for their small purchases then disappear out the front door en masse, chattering animatedly. Patrick hurries to the door, turning the deadbolt and putting up the _Back in 15 Mins_ sign. Then he heads into the back to find David sitting at the desk, sketching in his journal. He looks up at Patrick and smiles.

“Hi,” he says, flipping his journal shut.

“Hi,” Patrick replies, sinking down onto his husband’s lap and leaning in to kiss him. David hums against his lips, arms winding around Patrick’s waist, pulling him infinitesimally closer.

“What was that for?” David asks, when they part just enough to catch their breath.

“Anna Pavlova,” is all Patrick can manage to say before he absolutely has to kiss his husband again.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this very quickly, and I’m sure there are oodles of errors. I hope I have managed to skirt (ha!) the subject without causing offence. I’d love to hear from you. Leave a comment or kudos, and then come say hi on Tumblr @delilah-mcmuffin
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> D McM


End file.
